Twas the Day Before and After Christmas
by Bob Wright
Summary: As Christmas Eve dawns in Junctionville, Father Mouse and the Trundles dread what their lives will hold if the Santa clock doesn't chime at midnight. But then...
1. Chapter 1

TWAS THE DAY BEFORE AND AFTER CHRISTMAS

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Twas the Night Before Christmas and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of Rankin/Bass Production, Warner Bros. Television, and related entities. All lyrics are trademarked by their respective copyright holders. And now, sit back and enjoy this short holiday special of sorts:

* * *

Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the town, there was nary a smile, there was only a frown...

Well, that's what they would have said. Christmas Eve Day had dawned cloudy and cold, fitting for how Junctionville had felt for the last two months. I could feel the touch of snow in the air. But snow would not have made Christmas any merrier. I had seen it everyone's faces moving through town. Depression had set in, the firm belief having taken hold that Santa was not coming, that all hope was lost.

As for me, here I was, reduced to scavenging through the Junctionville town dump on Christmas Eve to find enough food for the rest of my family for Christmas Eve. Ordinarily I hated to stoop to such a level-it's beneath civilized mice like my family and me most of the time-but desperate times called for desperate measures. After all, crumbs don't fall from empty tables, as I'm sure you're all well aware...

With a frustrated sigh, I leaned against a shattered teacup and glanced into my pouch. There was enough scraps to feed the family, including a little bit of cheese. Still, I couldn't help worrying about the Trundles. By now, the bills were starting to pile up, to the point where I'd overheard Mr. Trundle whisper to the missus earlier in the week after the kids had gone to bed that they were in serious danger of losing the house if he didn't sell enough new clocks soon-he'd been absent from Junctionville all week, perhaps for the better given everything, to try and sell his now extremely excess clocks in surrounding towns. He'd promised he'd be back Christmas Eve afternoon, and I'd wanted to be there when he arrived. Believe me, I'd have hated to see him and his human family go; they had been the best house owners I'd known, and Mr. Trundle's willingness to let me join in his clock trade had been an act of generosity I'd never forget. But time was running short now. As I hefted the pouch over my shoulder to return home, my eyes locked in on the town clock in the distance, towering over the town, its hands still stuck at six thirty, where they'd landed after...I still couldn't bear to think about it, about how everything had come crashing down in one fateful moment that I still didn't understand. The clock had seemed in perfect shape up till that moment, had been working fine all that morning. How on earth had it gone ker-plunk so badly...?

A small clattering made me turn around. "Well, afternoon, Father Mouse," the town's garbage-mouse announced himself, dumping a claw-ful of scrap paper into the piles of garbage, "Fancy seeing you down here."

"Oh, uh, just looking for any keepsakes that might not be worth throwing away," I said quickly, twisting the bag behind my back. I couldn't help wanting to keep my own family's struggles private from the other mice in town, even though they had to have known by now.

"I see," the garbage-mouse, if he had figured it out, was at least not going to probe deeper, "Well, sounds like they're calling for snow tonight; perfect for Christmas Eve. Just wish Santa would change his mind and come..." he sighed sadly, "My kids really wanted..."

"Hold that thought," I cut him off. For the human garbage men were coming, toting wheelbarrows filled with what looked like a very familiar set of clocks. "...thought everyone had gotten rid of them by now," the larger garbage man was telling his colleague, "Oh well, I guess we can finish the job ourselves. One last pile of worthless Trundle clocks, take it away," he and his associate dumped their wheelbarrows over, spilling almost twenty clocks that I definitely remembered helping the boss to build into a pile, "Better let them break down here than in someone else's house."

"You know, I heard Trundle demanded a thousand upfront for the town clock," the shorter garbage man related. My blood started boiling; I knew full well that wasn't true at all. It had taken the town leaders a week to hammer out payment for the construction of the Santa clock, and the money wasn't delivered until after the job had been finished-and given how quickly the family had burned through it after the mishap, it wasn't as huge an amount of money as these ignorant humans would have wanted to believe. "He wanted to burnish his image and get rich off it," the ignoramus continued crowing as if he was the smartest man in the world, "Well, now that his business dried up, he got his just desserts."

"Yeah, do you believe that guy, trying to bilk the town over Santa Claus. Well, he's ruined for good now, and to a swindler like him, I say good riddance," the taller garbage man declared, giving the nearest clock a kick that shattered it. He and his partner laughed and walked away, their job done. Fuming, I stormed over to the broken clock and tried to push the wood back together. "Stupid idiot humans!" I growled out loud, "Have they no respect!?"

"Well you have to admit, Father Mouse, it doesn't look good for Mr. Trundle," the garbage-mouse approached from behind, "I saw the clock break down with my own eyes; it's easy to see how these rumors get started..."

"Mr. Trundle did not set out to defraud the town; he worked hard and honestly to build that clock for Santa, because he believes in him as much as I do and my chil-!" I started to retort, then caught myself when I remembered exactly what had set Santa against the town. I hadn't told any of my fellow mice of Albert's little article in the Junctionville Register; lord knows if we would suffer the fate the Trundles had. And besides, late though it was, I was still holding out hope Albert might repent and write to Santa saying he didn't mean it...

"Well, you know how it goes, F.M.; once a rumor gets started, it's hard to stop," the garbage-mouse shrugged, his opinion on the matter unclear. "Well, my job's done for the day. Merry Christmas, and hope things work out for you and the family."

"Merry Christmas to you too," I called to him, trudging away in a separate direction from him towards the town. My head sunk low as the thought of Albert's action two months ago once more flooded to the surface. What had the boy been thinking, to write to Santa calling him a fraudulent myth without any proof that he was!? I loved him dearly as my son, but sometimes, his desire to prove himself the smartest mouse in the room went too far. Clearly, this time he had. I just wish I could have been able to make him see how much writing that terrible letter had ruined Christmas for everyone in town-that if he hadn't written it, the Santa clock would never have had to come into play, would never have openly gone ker-plunk, and would...

I came to a sudden stop, my eyes starting to widen. Now that I thought of it, Albert had been absent when the clock broke down. He'd said he'd been going to the library to study more about clock workings, to better guess how the Santa clock worked. He'd been late coming home and had seemed evasive when I asked him where he'd been, saying he'd fallen asleep reading and had woken up just as the library closed. If I didn't know any better...could it be possible, horrible though it would be to...?

No, no, it couldn't have been, I shook my head firmly. There was no proof Albert had been anywhere near that clock. Until I found it, I had to trust his word as his father. It was just as simple as that.

With a deep sigh, I trudged back into the town. People were walking around glumly, with their heads hung down. And, as I turned onto the main street, two rather familiar people came around the corner: Tommy and Sally Trundle, each carrying an armful of their toys. I came to a stop, puzzled as to why they would be doing so. The human kids came to a stop in front of the town's general store and glanced sadly down at the toys. "And you're sure we should do this?" the boy asked hesitantly.

"We have to, Tommy, in case Father didn't sell enough clocks," his sister said, reluctantly but firmly, "We have to help him and Mother. And maybe if they see we're willing to be generous..."

"Yeah, you're right," Tommy conceded. With deep breaths, they walked into the general store. Frowning, I leaped to the window and leaned right against the glass to see what they were planning. "Can I help the two of you?" the clerk was asking them inside.

"We'd, uh...we'd like to sell our toys...that is, if you'd be able to find a good person to sell them to," Tommy explained, offering his up to the counter. Sally immediately did the same. "How much for them?" she asked.

"You're Trundle's kids, aren't you?" the clerk gave them a stern look, making me worried for a moment he was going to stiff them or chase them out. Fortunately, however, he smiled and said, "Well, I'm sure someone will find a nice home for all these. I think ten dollars for each of you will do fine," he handed them the money. I breathed a sigh of relief; at least someone in this town still had a heart, enough to give a fair deal for the selfless sale.

"Thank you, sir. Have a merry Christmas," Tommy thanked him. He and his sister exited the store. "Now what?" he asked her.

"Let's hope it's enough that we can have Christmas dinner," Sally stared at her money, unsure, "And that somehow Santa gets back in a good mood late tonight."

"So do I...Caleb," Tommy abruptly noticed a friend building a snowman on the corner. He and Sally bustled over. "Hello Caleb, can we join in?" he asked him.

"Sorry, Tommy, I'm not supposed to play with you anymore, my dad says," Caleb said regretfully, turning away from him, "He says you're not good enough for me anymore."

"Oh come on, what does he know!? It's not our fault the clock broke down!" Sally snapped.

"I'm sorry, but I can't..."

"Hey, you two!" came the angry shout of Caleb's father. I could make out the man storming up the street and had a feeling the following exchange was not going to be pleasant. "I don't want to see the two of you around my kid!" the man stepped between his son and the Trundles, "No son of mine's going to be seen playing with the kids of a liar and a swindler."

"Oh come, Dad, they're not...!" Caleb tried to protest.

"Come on, young man, it's time to go home," his father took his hand and started to drag him off, "And you both go home to your father; he's the only one worthy of your company," he snarled back at the kids coldly, prompting both Trundles to slump to the sidewalk and burst into tears. As you'd expect, my blood pressure was boiling again. "Well, if Santa does show up, mister, I hope you get a whole coal mine!" I shouted at Caleb's father's backside even though there was no chance he'd hear me. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself as best I could, then hopped down and raced to the corner. Mr. Trundle, after learning we mice lived in the walls and allowing me to join in his trade, had been oh so nice to introduce me to the whole family, so I knew I'd be a good person to try to offer them some comfort...

"Afternoon, kids," I announced myself to them, making them look up. "Oh, hello, Father Mouse, Tommy greeted me, wiping his eyes and scooping me up in his palm, "What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, just running some errands," I said quickly, "I couldn't help see the two of you giving all your toys away so the family could have some extra money; that was really noble of the two of you."

"I just wish it didn't have to come to this, Father Mouse," Sally sniffed loudly, "Why does everyone have to be so mean!? Father only made one little mistake; why do we have to lose everything because of it...!?"

"I wish I knew, honey. But perhaps mice aren't supposed to understand humans," I admitted, leaping into her hand, "But I want you and your brother to know you've got the support of me and my family. We all know you and your parents are good people; best homeowners we've ever had."

"Glad someone does. Thanks, Father Mouse," Tommy patted me on the head, "I can't understand people either sometimes. And why would Santa want to stay this angry over that letter? It's just not like him."

"I know, Tom. Well, there's always the possibility someone played with his mind too. You know, I've heard the story, maybe you and your sister have too: supposedly there used to be a terrible king who lived up at the North Pole with an icy cold heart, who terrorized anyone who came into his kingdom of the North with horrible winter storms and other dark magical spells, until the Lady Borealis put him to sleep with a spell of her own. If it's true, and he ever woke up, he'd be real upset Santa's set up shop at the North Pole himself. Maybe he'd seize the chance to take the situation we've found ourselves in and get into Santa's mind with his magic to make him angrier than he'd normally be...?"

I shrugged; the idea of King Winterthunder, or whatever his name was-it had been so long since my grandfather had told me that tale-was grasping at straws for Santa's continuing anger at the town, and the town's unforgiving attitude towards my family's hosts. But what else could I think of to possibly give any rationality to the situation? Perhaps, like humans half the time, we mice always looked for someone or something to blame in bad times. Of course, for us, that usually came down the cats, but...

"There's Father," Sally pointed up the street. Sure enough, I could see Mr. Trundle coming up the street, pretty much ignored by everyone. Disappointingly, the cart full of clocks he was pushing seemed almost as full as it had been when he'd left Junctionville earlier in the week. "Well, you two might as well go to him," I told the kids, hopping down to the ground, "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you after all this time away."

"Merry Christmas, Father Mouse; see you later. Merry Christmas, Father," Sally waved to him, rushing with her brother up to him. Mr. Trundle's expression brightened significantly to see them. "Merry Christmas, you two," he scooped them up in his arms, "I can't begin to tell you how glad I am to see the two of you on Christmas Eve."

"Looks like you didn't sell too many clocks, Father," Tommy had noticed the nearly full cart as well.

"Well, I sold enough so we can have a good Christmas dinner," his father said quickly, "We'll be able to enjoy the night, even if Santa doesn't..."

He was cut off by a hard snowball to his backside. "Why'd you even bother coming back, Trundle?" came the shout from a trio of known town bullies who were now hurling them at him from the far sidewalk, "Why don't you just keep going with your stolen money!?"

"I won't get that new sled I wanted thanks to you!" another one of the bullies tossed another snowball right at the boss's head. Mr. Trundle shook it off and paid them no heed. "Well, let's head on home," he told his children, wheeling his cart down the street, "I'm sure your mother's expecting the two of you for dinnertime. What were you doing out and about anyway?"

"We made some money of our own for us, Father," Sally held up her share of her toy's money, "Now we can help with the bills too."

"Well you wouldn't have had to have done that, my dear, but that's very noble of you and your brother. How'd you earn it?"

"It's a secret, Father."

"I see," the boss mumbled, the expression in his eye hinting strongly that he already knew how they'd gotten the money, "Well, if Santa does end up coming..."

The rest of the conversation was lost as he and his kids turned the corner out of sight. "Are you even listening to us, Trundle! Here's your Christmas presents!" the bullies continued to run after him, hurling snowballs. Shaking my head, I turned down a side street to head back home a different route. I'd seen enough holiday ill will than I'd really wanted to see already.

I reached home about a minute before the boss. There was a note on the back mouse door from the missus, saying she and kids had gone out for a last minute visit to her sister in Lawstown. I nodded and pocketed the note; they'd be back by dark, hopefully accompanied by a finally repentant Albert. I turned back towards the front door at the sound of Mrs. Trundle coming outside. "Joshua, glad you made it back safe," she gave him a warm kiss.

"Good to see you too, Sarah," he embraced her, "I missed you so much this week. Why don't you two go on inside?" he told his kids, "You can go set the table for us."

"All right, Father," Tommy agreed, his face and his sister's showing concern, as if they know serious things would be discussed when they were gone. Noentheless, they went inside. "How did it go?" Mrs. Trundle asked her husband, frowning at the full cart herself.

"Well, I made some sales, so we'll at least get through Christmas," Mr. Trundle said out loud. After checking in the front door, however, to make sure his kids weren't listening in, his expression crashed. "I sold two clocks all week, Sarah," he mumbled miserably, whispering in his wife's ear, "They were to a pair of homeless men living under a bridge in Mullerville. They took them and...and...and..." his face contorted in pain, "They broke the clocks up and used them for firewood."

He put his face in his hands. I understood his pain; Mr. Trundle was an avowed professional who viewed every clock he made as a work of art. To see his wares treated so callously had to cut him on a deep level. "Apparently the word spread faster than I thought, Sarah," he continued lamenting softly to his bride, "No one trusted me at all. I can't count the number of doors that got slammed in my face. I don't know what else we can do," he finally looked up at her, "Barring some miraculous intervention, we're going to have to move. I hate to uproot the kids, but we're going to have no choice. Maybe I have failed them and you..."

"Joshua, you're not a failure," the missus put an arm around him, "You've done all you can. We've just...been hit by the worst possible luck at the worst possible time. You're still a hero to Tommy and Sally; don't give up on them."

"You're right, you're right," he took a deep breath. His gaze turned in the direction of City Hall. "In fact..." he momentarily looked uncertain, but then declared firmly, "I'm going to give it another shot with the Mayor, Sarah; maybe with time running low, he'll be more receptive then he was last time."

"I can't understand why he'd say no when he didn't have any better ideas before," Mrs. Trundle shook her head in disgust, "For all I know they've just left the clock broken down all this time without a backup plan...!"

"Well, unless they've come up with something else to make Santa happy again, they pretty much have no choice now," determination flooded back into Mr. Trundle's face, "I'm going, and I won't come back until they let me fix that clock. Even if it is too late, at least it's worth a try. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," smiling, Mrs. Trundle kissed him before he turned and walked down the street. Almost immediately, to my disgust, the snowballs started flying at him again from those nasty hooligans. "Hey, Trundle, out of time!?" hissed one of the boys, aiming for and connected with his head, "Your time in this town ran out a long time ago; why don't you pack up and go!?"

Mr. Trundle paid no heed and kept walking. I, in the meantime, happened to notice the snow hanging off the roof of the shop awning they were standing under. Glaring, I grabbed a stick that happened to be laying nearby and quickly climbed up to the awning. I hated to do it, but right now, my patience with the bullies in Junctionville was gone. And so, it was with only the slightest remorse that I shoved the snow off the awning with the stick. It fell right on top of the brats, silencing them and leaving them gasping in shock. I nodded in satisfaction, then jumped from storefront to storefront, trying to keep up with the boss. I wanted to see exactly what was going to go down here.

* * *

As I approached City Hall, I could see the silhouettes in the council chamber's window arguing loudly with each other. I felt no sympathy for them; they'd had the clear cut chance to let Mr. Trundle fix the clock earlier and had choked it up out of the need to play politics and have somebody besides themselves to blame for the clock's failure. God willing they'd take this last chance when it was handed to them...

I scrambled up one of the columns and reached the second floor balcony, where the voices became audible: "...rode over to Lawstown and stopped by there myself. He's gone, Mr. Mayor; he took our money and ran," the council president was lamenting grimly, "I said we shouldn't have trusted him to fix the clock...!"

"He looked legitimate to me, Coopersmith; his resume was impressive!" another councilman protested, "How was I supposed to know he'd swindle us blind without even bothering to work on the clock!?"

"You barely even checked him out; you just asked around to every town and picked out the guy who looked...!"

"All right, all right, gentlemen, let us put this sad endeavor to rest," the Mayor interceded, his shadow pacing around in a tight circle inside, "Are there any other ideas you might have to get Mr. Claus-Santa, that is-back into seeing our community in a more positive aura, such as...?"

"I asked the church youth choir to try and sing for him to come in the town square at midnight," another councilman spoke up, "I was turned down flat. They said they had more important things to do; can you believe that!?"

"How about a banner, gentlemen? We draw up something asking Mr. Claus to forgive us and hang it here over City Hall to...?"

"No good there either, Mr. Mayor; that rainstorm last night got into the basement and ruined the only piece of paper large enough for Santa to see in the sky," the council president rued, "Same with the fireworks too, so we can't send those up to send a message for him to come. And the letter I sent from the Mullerville post office asking him to show Junctionville sympathy was returned to my house with a Not Accepted by Addressee label, same as the original letters to Santa. He must have known it was from a Junctionville resident. I'm sorry, Mr. Mayor, I'm fresh out of ideas..."

 _"Well here's your answer if you want it,"_ I thought, seeing Mr. Trundle below, approaching the front door of City Hall. I climbed the railing and glanced down for the best possible look. The boss stopped at the door and took a deep, nervous breath, the pain of the cold rejection to fix the clock he'd received the last time he'd been at the building clearly still fresh on his mind. Nonetheless, he forced something resembling a determined look on his face and knocked on the door. It slowly swung open. "Oh, it's YOU again," came the sergeant at arms' sneer.

"Uh, yes, it's me," Mr. Trundle answered. I leaped to a tree nearby and scrambled down the trunk for a clearer view. "I, um, I would like to speak the Mayor when he has the time," the boss declared.

"The Mayor's very busy right now and has no time for you," the sergeant at arms snapped.

"Then I'll wait for him."

"He won't be available for the rest of the day. So go on home, Trundle," the other man jerked a finger towards the street.

"I...I must insist on seeing him. I...I'm prepared to stand out here waiting until Christmas morning if that's what it takes," Mr. Trundle said as firmly as he could manage, folding his arms across his chest. It wasn't a very convincing stand-the boss had never been one for confrontations, after all-but nonetheless, the sergeant at arms sighed out loud. "All right, I'll tell him you're here. Stay here," he held up a hand in the boss's face, then closed the door hard on him. Mr. Trundle stood firmly in place, even as the snow started fall hard around him. I had to admire his willingness to take a stand, even if it was a bit late...

The minutes stretched on and on. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door swung back open. "Yes, Mr. Trundle?" looking a bit irritated, the Mayor stuck his head out the door.

"Um, good afternoon and merry Christmas, Mr. Mayor. I, uh, was just wondering, um, have you made any progress in repairing the clock?" the boss asked, trying his best to make the question sound innocent.

"Well, if you must ask, Trundle, we've wracked our brains hard for a long, long time, examining every potential possibility, but so far, a solution to the problem in question has proven more elusive than even such well nuanced gentlemen as ourselves could have thought to...aw heck, we've got nothing," the Mayor threw up his hands in disgust, clearly frustrated that a tangible Plan B hadn't come to him yet.

"Well...if that's the case, I...my offer to fix the clock myself is still open, Mr. Mayor, if you wish to..."

"Absolutely out of the question Trundle," the Mayor shook his head firmly, "You've proven yourself too untrustworthy to be granted that opportunity, given the shame that has fallen upon this body of government and..."

"Please Mr. Mayor, what about the children? What can we tell them if we're not going to examine every opportunity? I'm only asking..."

"You heard the man, the answer's no!" the sergeant at arms snapped over the Mayor's shoulder, "So why don't you...!?"

"Hahn, please," the Mayor flashed him an irritated look that telegraphed the man was going further than he'd preferred. Turning back to the boss, he said gruffly, "You don't appreciate the position I myself and the council are in, Trundle. We were just as humiliated as you were when the clock broke down; to regain the unwavering trust of the constituency, we need to use a method that is not tainted by failure, one that does not..."

"But if you haven't come up with another answer, why is mine no good, even with the public relations fiasco it may have been before!? Please, Mr. Mayor, I'm begging you," with a deep gulp, the proud man fell to his knees at the Mayor's feet, "I ask only for a second chance, as Christmas is supposed to be about. I'll do it for no pay; I'll give you and the council anything you'd want; I'll...leave town afterwards and never come back. Just please, for the children, give me another chance...!"

"On your feet, man; I can't bear to see a grown man beg like a child!" the Mayor barked at him. Once Mr. Trundle was on his feet, he sighed again. "Wait here, Trundle. I'll consult with the council and see what they think about your proposition," he told the boss, turning and heading back upstairs. The sergeant at arms immediately threw the door shut in Mr. Trundle's face when he took a step forward. Mr. Trundle shook his head, but nonetheless seemed optimistic to me; after all, it wasn't an outright rejection. Perhaps desperation would force the town fathers to concede.

Again, the minutes stretched on incessantly. I could see the Mayor and councils' shadows against the blinds, again in heated debate, but this time, I decided not to listen in. If it was going to be another no answer, I didn't want to know ahead of time. The snow got heavier and heavier, but Mr. Trundle remained firmly in place, staring intently at City Hall's front door, waiting for it to open up again. Finally, after a good half hour, I heard the Mayor's footsteps coming back downstairs. I took a deep, nervous breath; were the boss and I going to like what he had to say...?

Mr. Trundle himself leaned forward in anticipated as the door open up once more. "All right, Trundle, here's the deal as the council has decided in unanimous fashion," the Mayor stuck his head out, "Tell us what you think the problem with the clock is, and we'll take care of it."

"You?" Mr. Trundle's expression dropped. Clearly this was not what he had hoped to hear. "With all due respect, Mr. Mayor, I don't see how you and the council would be able to fix a..."

"This is our decision, and it is final, Trundle," the Mayor's expression got stern again, "You've proven you're not trustworthy enough to handle the situation; therefore, you will not be granted personal access to the clock. We are more than capable to handle whatever repairs need to be made."

"But how can I guess what's wrong with it if I can't see up close what the damage is...!?"

"It is our interpretation that, having been in there long enough to build the clock, and with your long history working with clocks, you would be capable of making the judgment here and now, and we can take it from here."

"But Mr. Mayor sir, please...!"

"I reiterate, Trundle, our declaration is final; you will not touch the clock going forward. Will you abide by our decision!?" the Mayor gave him a glare that would have melted steel. I glanced up the at the boss from my hidden position, seeing the turmoil in his now crestfallen face. " _Don't do it,"_ I silently begged him, _"Don't give him and those backstabbers the satisfaction of running you under. If they don't want you to fix the clock, let it stay broken on them!"_

Instead, however, Mr. Trundle gave a soft nod and mumbled, "Yes, sir, I will abide by it, for the sake of the town's children." I slapped my hand to my face; I appreciated that he cared so much for the children in town, but he'd now officially signed his death warrant as a clockmaker in Junctionville.

"All right, very good," the Mayor nodded himself, "Now, what do you think caused it to become as dysfunctional as it had in such a short period of time?"

"Well," Mr. Trundle glanced up at the broken clock and squinted at it. He sighed softly and muttered, "My best guess is, one of the shafts broke loose and that set off a chain reaction, sir."

"Very well, we shall have it taken care of in short order. You may go now, Trundle," the Mayor told him firmly. As the boss nodded and turned to leave, the man's expression surprisingly softened. "And a merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Trundle," he called after him in a voice filled with pity, "I hope your business picks up again after the New Year."

"Thank you, Mr. Mayor, and merry Christmas too," the boss mumbled sadly, only partially turning his head to look back. He trudged off towards home with his head hung low. My blood was boiling again: the Mayor and council had forced him into a no-win situation to save their own backsides. If they fixed the clock themselves, they'd get all the credit, and if they didn't, the boss still got all the blame for breaking it no matter how wrong and unfair that idea was. It was no wonder I'd asked all my kids to never become mice politicians; your soul would become...

I stopped myself, a wry smile suddenly crossing my lips. Why was I so worried about the first scenario? There was no way on earth the Mayor and council could possibly fix the clock by midnight, not when they clearly had no idea how a clock worked. They weren't going to take credit for anything. Grinning, I started climbing up the building again. I wanted to see their embarrassment at clock repair firsthand.

* * *

Two hours later, with darkness falling, I had not been disappointed. All above me in the clock, loud bangs and shouts rang out above me, the trademarks of bumbling amateurs in over their heads. "All right, move that shaft over there and screw it in!" the council president called out.

"That's not the right place, I'm telling you!" another councilman shouted at him.

"It's right, trust me on this!"

"OOOOOOWWWW!" the sergeant at arms howled higher up, "Watch where you're hammering there, you idiot!"

"I told you that you were holding it wrong!" still another councilman upbraided him.

"HEADS UP!" came a desperate shout, followed by a thundering crash. I glanced up to see the heavy gears falling and quickly jumped out of the way in time to avoid getting crushed. "Let's face it, Mr. Mayor, we're getting nowhere with this!" the council president complained above me, "There's no way on earth we're going to get this infernal thing fixed by the time Santa gets here at midnight!"

"Sorry Mr. Mayor, he's right; it's hopeless!" another councilman lamented, "Maybe we should just call Trundle back and see what he can do, then take..."

"It's eight o'clock on Christmas Eve, Gardner; it's too late for him to do anything now," the council president cut him off grimly, "You'd have to be a real genius to fix this mess in four hours!" He let out a frustrated sigh. "You know, maybe we should have just let him fix the clock last month when he asked about it..."

"Maybe we should have. But it's too late now," the first councilman sighed himself. "It's too late for anything now. I motion we go home and just forget this whole Christmas ever happened, Mr. Mayor."

"Duly noted. All those in favor-and don't dare try and say no, McDivish," the Mayor declared wearily.

"Aye," came the frustrated, defeated groans of the town council. "Motion carried," the Mayor could be heard pounding against a large gear to simulate a gavel-an action for which he then howled in pain. He quickly recollected himself, though, and mumbled loudly, "Go on home to your families, gentlemen, and have a merry Christmas-or at least as merry as can be had under the circumstances. We'll reconvene the day after the New Year to try and determine how to get back in Santa Claus's good graces in time for next Christmas. Good evening, gentlemen."

"Good evening," the council muttered miserably. One by one, they filed out of the clock tower with their heads hung low in defeat. The Mayor was the last to go, pausing to look back up at the gears and sprockets filling the tower. "It WAS a wonderful idea, Mr. Trundle," he said wistfully, "If only it had worked..."

With a sad shake of his head, he blew out his candle-and in a way, with it, hope-plunging the tower into darkness. I heard his footsteps thud away down the stairs into the building until all was deathly quiet. Strangely, I found myself feeling some sympathy for the Mayor-it was clear now he didn't really hate the boss and did wish the best for him. Still, he was an idiot in my eyes to keep him away from the clock out of his need for political necessity to have a fall guy for any mistakes. And now, it was too late to...

...or was it, I suddenly realized? After all, I was here and knew just about clocks as Mr. Trundle himself. Maybe, just maybe, I thought, groping around for a match, I could fix it myself while was here. Then when it activated at midnight, he'd get the credit, and everything would be...!

But a quick look up at the clock's workings after I struck the match threw gallons of cold water on that thought. Whatever the initial damage the clock had taken when it had broken down, the Mayor and council had clearly just made it infinitely worse with their bumbling, I could immediately tell with a sinking heart. Gears had been horribly bent, or broken off and fallen to the floor, axles had snapped in two, screws were loose everywhere-and not all of that damage had been there when I'd first climbed into the clock a few hours ago. Sadly, I slumped my head against one of the fallen gears. There was no way a simple mouse like me could pull off such a necessarily elaborate repair job in just four hours. The council president was right: it would take a genius to repair the clock now...

There was nothing else I could do-perhaps even nothing else anyone could do. Christmas for Junctionville had probably just gone completely and totally out the window for good. With a heavy heart, I blew out the match-and, once more, hope-and trudged for the mouse hole to the outside, where the snow was now falling heavily. It was time to go home to my family...and pray for a last-minute Christmas miracle...

* * *

A light was glowing under the mouse door when I finally returned home. I forced a smile onto my face as I went inside. "Evening, Father," Mother Mouse came bustling out of the kitchen, "Where have you been all this time?"

"Oh, running errands," I said quickly, giving her a kiss, "Found some food, too," I extended my pouch towards her.

"Oh, many thanks, Father," she glanced inside, "This...this should do well."

She too forced a grin; I knew how much she hated dump food; I did too, but under the circumstances, we had no real choice. "Enjoy your trip?" I quickly changed the subject.

"Yes, my sister was glad to see us."

"Kids in bed already?" I looked around for them.

"Youngest two are. Albert wanted to stay up a little longer. He was quiet the whole time, almost as if something was bothering him."

"I'll have a word with him, Mother. Where...never mind, I see him," I noticed Albert's outline around the corner near the mouse hole to the Tr4undle's kitchen. As I strode into the room, I came to a stop, seeing that he seemed to be on the verge of tears. He was staring out the mouse hole, where Mr. Trundle could be heard singing a song that was surprisingly peppy despite his circumstances at the moment. Slowly, my son's lips began to move, echoing the last line of the song: "...even a miracle needs a hand..." And with that, he completely broke down in tears. "Albert?" I called out loud, coming over to him, wondering what the problem could be now...


	2. Chapter 2

"...THREE SECONDS TO CHRISTMAS!"

Those three seconds pounded away like lightning. And then...nothing.

"No chimes. No song. No Santa!" I couldn't stop my own tears from flowing. With a heavy heart, I blew out my candle-extinguishing the last hope for Junctionville-and slumped down into bed, ready for a long winter's nap, ready to forget the last two months.

I should have seen it sooner, I lamented to myself. It made perfect sense, given his stated interest in how the Santa clock worked, that Albert would have wanted a closer look. Why did he have to play around with it then, I had to ask? At least it had been simple innocent curiosity rather than any maliciousness. And at least he had not only repented but had made the genuine effort to redeem himself. But it had just been too late, too much damage to the clock. Still, he was my son, and I forgave him. Nonetheless, it was clear now the Trundles would have to move away, and...

And then I heard it, slowly rising up over the sound of the carolers singing in the town square, like a mechanical machine slowly coming to life. I rose up in bed in a flash. Had Albert actually gotten the clock working again...!?

My wish was realized as I heard the familiar song rise to life, ringing loudly through the town: "Christmas snow is falling. Carols fill the air. But it won't be Christmas till Santa Claus is here..." The bells that then started ringing loudly confirmed it: the clock was running again, and not a second too soon. "Bless you, Albert!" I exclaimed, pumping a fist high in the air. He'd fully redeemed himself now.

"What's going on?" my wife sleepily awoke in the bed, "Father, what's...the clock!" she exclaimed, hearing it ringing thunderously, "It's working again! But how...?"

"I'll explain later; point is, Santa's coming back!" I shouted, pulling her close for a kiss. I then instinctively rushed to the window and looked out. Windows were lighting up all over Junctionville; excited people were leaning out of windows, staring at the sky. And then I saw it in the distance: a familiar sleigh and eight reindeer meandering through the sky. It came to a stop, as if listening to the clock's refrain, and then, to my immense delight, took a wide turn towards the town. "YES!" I yelled, dancing around in delight; I just couldn't help myself.

"Father, is Santa Claus coming!?" my other children rushed into the room, apparently having been awakened by the shouting.

"Sure is; see for yourselves!" I let them join me at the window. The sleigh was flying over the rooftops of town, happy children waving their arms at it out the windows. I thought I could see Santa leaning partially out of the sleigh, waving his hand at the houses below. Flashes of light flickered in the air over them; perhaps he was magically delivering the presents to the town, I supposed, given he was about a minute behind schedule now. But then I saw him making a beeline for the Trundles' roof, his team coming in for a landing. "Come on, hurry, he's coming here!" I told the others, drawing in my head and rushing for the mouse hole. We all poured out of it just as St. Nicholas came down the chimney with a bound. I could describe how looked to you, but I'm sure you're already familiar with the description. As he rose to his feet and started looking through his sack, I heard footsteps rushing up behind me. Albert had returned from the clock. I embraced him hard; for all the good grades in mouse school he'd gotten over the years, I had never been prouder of him than I was now. His repentant good deed had saved Christmas for the town. And for me, that erased everything negative that had come before.

Albert now turned towards Santa with wide eyes. But I could tell he now believed. Hopefully he'd learned his lesson that some things you can't regularly see are just as real sometimes as the things you can. Anyway, Santa filled all the stockings, turned with a jerk, laid a finger aside of his nose, gave a nod, and up the chimney he rose. The Trundles, who had also been awoken by the clock and the reindeer's hooves on the roof, rushed to the window to watch him go. I did the same, as did my family, just in time to catch Santa flying away from town, much like the down of a thistle, as it were. And I could clearly hear him exclaim as he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

Within a heartbeat, he had vanished from view over the snowy hills. It was Sally who broke the happy silence. "It worked, Father!" she hugged him hard, "How did the clock start working again?"

"Well...I guess it must have been a little Christmas magic, honey," Mr. Trundle said, turning to wink at me. I could tell our little conversation of about a half hour again over the true cause of why Santa had gotten upset and the clock had broken down was going to remain a secret between he and I. "After all, there's plenty of magic on Christmas Eve. I guess we all wished hard enough for the miracle to happen, and it did."

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense," the girl nodded slowly. "Well, can we open our presents now!?" she asked eagerly.

"Now, now, you know the rules; only one present on Christmas Eve; the rest are for Christmas morning," her mother told her, but she was smiling, "At least I'm glad that..."

"Listen," Tommy held up his hand. And I heard it too; the carolers who'd been performing in the town square when the clock had come back to life were now singing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" right in front of the Trundle house. And a quick glance out the window showed there were more people in the group than had been singing before. Smiling himself, Mr. Trundle walked over to the front door and opened it just as the song ended. He was greeted with a thunderous applause. "Thank you, thank you very much," he greeted the carolers, "That was a lovely rendition."

"Thank YOU, Trundle," the leader of the carolers stepped forward, "That clock was a brilliant idea in the end. Starting up exactly at the right time even after it broke. You brought Santa back to us after all."

"Well, I can't claim all the credit," Mr. Trundle said modestly, "I guess a little holiday magic helped with..."

"I want to buy my clock back," a man bustled out of the group, digging through his wallet, "Now that I know it might be magic and can repair itself if it breaks down, I want it back."

"I want my clock back too," a woman stepped forward as well, similarly digging through her purse.

"I'll pay double for what I originally paid for mine!" another man practically rushed the front door, waving a fistful of dollars.

"I'll pay triple for mine!" came another shout. The crowd surged forward in a rush, eager to reclaim the clocks they had so coldly shoved back in the boss's face just a month ago. "One at a time, please, one at a time, I'll fulfill your requests one at a time!" Mr. Trundle asked loudly, trying without success to heard the carolers into a single line. They instead surged into the shop, snatching up clocks off the shelf, and then thrusting huge amounts of money in his face on the way out. "Thank you, thank you, and merry Christmas to you," Mr. Trundle repeated to many of them as they dashed into the snow with their treasures. He turned to his wife, now clustered with their children by the stairs, and excitedly thrust a large fistful of dollars in the air. I was just as happy as they were; they were going to stay in Junctionville after all.

"Well," I turned to my own family, "Looks like the boss'll be busy for a while. I guess we'd better head back to sleep now."

"I guess so," my daughter yawned, "I'm just glad Santa came back. How do you think the clock re-started, Father?"

"Like Mr. Trundle said, I guess it was Christmas magic," I told her, turning to Albert and giving him a knowing wink. I gestured for him to stay behind while the rest of the family bustled off towards the mousehole. "I couldn't be prouder of you than I am now, Son," I gave him another hug, "You just made Christmas bright for the whole town. And I guess now you believe in Santa?"

"Yes, yes I do, Father," Albert nodded, "I wouldn't have thought it logically possible that he could be real, but I suppose...sometimes you just have to believe."

"That's right. There'll always be a time and place for book learning, Albert, and you'll go far with that, but there are some things in the world you just have to have faith on. So that just leaves one more apology to give."

"One more apology?" Albert's face dropped, "Who, Father?"

"To Mr. Trundle, for putting him in such a hard place the last month. So first thing tomorrow morning..."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Mr. Trundle, for getting too hands-on with your clock when I went to see how it worked," Albert in fact confessed to the boss in the kitchen the following morning, with only I myself as a witness, "I meant no harm; I was just interested in seeing the method it ran by. I hope you can..."

"Of course you're forgiven, Albert," Mr. Trundle picked him up in his palm, "What you did last night more than made up for everything. In fact, in a strange way, I think it might have worked out for the better," he glanced back into his shop, which even now was jam-packed with clock buyers, snatching up every clock left on the shelf like ravenous wolves, "Everyone thinks my clocks are magic now. We can pay off all the bills, we won't have to move."

"Um, so I know, you won't tell anyone else?" Albert inquired with pleading eyes, I still, uh, feel guilty over having caused all the trouble..."

"If you won't say a word, and your father won't, I won't," Mr. Trundle assured him, then turned to me. "I guess the secret safe with me then," I nodded.

"Very well, I guess only the three of us and Santa will ever know. Still, I have to ask," Mr. Trundle leaned close to my son's face, "Why did you feel the need to send that letter to Santa in the first place?"

"Well..." Albert shuffled about uncomfortably, "The whole concept of Santa Claus was illogical after I'd examined it from every possible angle, and I...I felt that I needed to get the word out that it was against all scientific logic. I never...I never meant to have ruined everyone's Christmas. I thought grown-ups didn't believe, that..."

"Albert, you're never too old to believe in Santa," Mr. Trundle told him softly, "Logic's good, but..."

"Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. I know that now, yes," Albert nodded, "The most learned people sometimes have to..."

"Joshua, there's a special visitor to see you," Mrs. Trundle called in through the kitchen door.

"Be right there," Mr. Trundle set us down on the table. I had a suspicion I knew who the visitor was, and sure enough, the Mayor was standing behind the door when the boss opened it. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Trundle, and congratulations," he greeted the man he'd given the brush-off to not more than twenty-four hours ago warmly, "I must say that magnificent clock exceeded the expectations of myself and all of the town government even back when we thought there was little chance of the project failing," he gave the boss a handshake, "Tell me, how did you design it to come back to life right on cue like that?"

"Well, I really don't know myself, Mr. Mayor," Mr. Trundle shrugged innocently, "As I've told everyone else, I guess it was holiday magic. Have you come for a clock of your own?"

"Actually, I've come to attempt to offer amends for my previous stances on this whole clock matter, which has been proven to have been an incorrect tact by the events of..aw heck," it was his turn to fall penitently to his knees, "Could you possibly find it in yourself to forgive a short-sighted old man who let good politics get in the way of good sense?"

"Of course I can, Mr. Mayor," Mr. Trundle nodded. Part of me begged to differ, but I determined to let it slide; it was, after all, Christmas Day, where forgiveness was supposed to reign.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that, Mr. Trundle," the Mayor smiled, rising to his feet, "Perhaps, if the council and myself had been wiser and more far-sighted, we would have allowed you to take care of the clock's...mishap quicker, and we never would have cut it this close. Therefore, I feel it only right to offer to make amends by hereby granting you unfettered access to the clock tower in the future whenever we deem it necessary for you to be there-and, further, to invite you and your family to formal Christmas dinner this afternoon at City Hall, should you choose to accept."

"Well, of course we'll accept, Mr. Mayor. And thank you," Mr. Trundle beamed, "Now, if you would like a clock, you'd better hurry; my supplies are running out fast," he gestured to his emptying inventory in the showroom.

"In fact, Mr. Trundle, I can probably afford a good grandfather clock if..." the Mayor's voice disappeared among the throngs of clock buyers. My eyes then caught a smaller form rushing into the store clutching what looked like a new sled, making a beeline to where the Trundle kids were standing under the tree, opening their last set of presents. "Come on, I waved to Albert, "let's see how else you just made Christmas better for everyone by fixing that clock."

Albert followed me towards the tree. "...waiting all my life for this, and thanks to your Dad's clock working, I got it!" Caleb told Tommy and Sally happily, holding the sled high, "So I had to come over and say thanks, no matter what Dad says. So, you want to come over tonight to play?"

"Well, if your dad's not going to lay down the...Mr. Lawson," Tommy abruptly noticed Caleb's father stumbling into the store, clutching what appeared to be two different stockings, and with a blank expression on his face, "Mr. Lawson, I know what you said, but..."

"Coal," Caleb's father moaned, loosening his hold on the stockings to show they were filled to the brim with coal, "Two whole stockings full of coal. What did I do to deserve that? I just acted in what I felt was my son's best interests. Did that really warrant nothing from Santa but coal...?"

"Sorry to hear that, Mr. Lawson," Sally told him with sympathy in her voice, "But if it's OK, Caleb asked us over tonight, so if..."

"Yeah, I guess it's all right. His clock worked anyway, and my son got what he wanted, so I guess your dad's not a swindler after all. Coal. Nothing but coal..." Caleb's father moaned, stumbling away. I nodded in satisfaction; Santa had put him in place for his narrow-mindedness, and I had to guess more than a few other people in town-I had a few ideas who-also had nothing but coal in in their stockings this morning as well. But a quick look outside showed that more of the town had indeed been forgiven and received their presents; children could be seen running around clutching new toys to share with their friends. All was well in Junctionville once more. And thanks to my son, Santa Claus would return the next year, and all years after that.

THE END


End file.
